Ellis issued challenge, and M's got their leader

By ART THIEL, SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

Published
10:00 pm PDT, Tuesday, September 23, 2003

After three successful years in Cincinnati, including the 1990 World Series championship, Lou Piniella left the Reds' manager's job after the 1992 season. Partly out of dismay with owner Marge Schott, and partly because he needed time to tend to businesses in which his investment partners declared bankruptcy, leaving him holding the bag, he was not seeking a managerial job. But Mariners general manager Woody Woodward begged him to interview with club CEO John Ellis and the new ownership group that recently purchased the Mariners. Reluctantly, Piniella and his wife, Anita, flew to Seattle, mostly as a courtesy gesture to Woodward, an old friend.

John Ellis' company, Puget Power, owned one of the area's premier restaurants, Salish Lodge, a rustically elegant hostelry overlooking Snoqualmie Falls about a half-hour east of Seattle. A large room was reserved for club owners and officials to meet the candidate.

Ellis, Woodward and Piniella were joined by Chuck Armstrong, Chris Larson, Jeff Raikes, Craig Watjen and several others in ownership who were getting their first real action as baseball moguls. Ellis and Piniella met alone before dinner, then the group conversed over a sumptuous meal.

"I was up front with them," Piniella said. "I told them I was here because of Woody. I wasn't here looking for a job, because truthfully, I don't think I'm going to be involved in this situation."

As the evening wore on, the interrogation was narrowing, getting more pointed -- and awkward.

"They asked me some funny questions," he said. "They were all computer guys, so it struck me funny when they asked if I could use a computer to take out the lineups."

Then came a change-up, from software to hardball: Why, Piniella was asked, should we have interest in you when Cincinnati let you go?

Ellis nearly leaped out of his chair. Before Piniella could answer, Ellis said, "Let's stop this thing," and the meeting ended abruptly.

"They were the worst questions," Ellis said. "Chuck, Woody and I sort of turned Lou over to them. And they start asking things that are simply unbelievable. Here we are recruiting this guy, and he's being exposed to these people who he'd view as the one who would be running him -- a bunch of wealthy young kids whose roles Lou didn't know.

"If I were him, I wouldn't have answered some of the questions, because in my view, they were insulting. I thought the evening was a total disaster ... almost the worst mistake known to man."

Ellis also admitted he wasn't used to that sort of give and take. Compared to 15 years in the New York media meat-grinder, Piniella heard nothing that put him off. The rest of the diners heard things they liked.

"Lou said one thing that stood out," Watjen, the retired Microsoft treasurer, said. "'If I'm your manager, you can be assured the inmates won't be running the asylum.' That's what we needed."

Ellis had a larger worry than the Q-and-A of the meeting: Would a manager of Piniella's résumé and accomplishments make a long-term commitment to a franchise that had done next to nothing? Piniella ended the visit without any commitment.

"Here's a big-time guy who lives in Florida and hasn't been out here -- is he just looking for a quick job and then he'll run out on me?" Ellis said. "How can we get him to stick around after he sees how difficult this job is?"

As important: How can Anita be persuaded? As they flew home from Seattle the next day, Lou knew he liked Woodward and was impressed with Ellis. The playing roster had potential. But he just couldn't quite see himself in Seattle.

By the time they returned to their Allendale, N.J., home, he was ready to say no -- perhaps because that was the word that Anita pounded into his ear on the flight.

"No, no, no, no, no," Piniella recalled her saying. "She said, 'You're not going to Seattle. Just get that totally out of your mind.'"

Her reasons were obvious: Too far from home, and spring training was in Arizona instead of Florida.

The Piniellas had three children: Lou Jr., 23, was out of school and working on Wall Street, and Kristi, 21, and Derek, 13, were still in school and needing a father closer than the West Coast.

Ellis had one play left in him. He knew Piniella to be a ruthless competitor. Watching his reactions over dinner, he knew he could handle most anything.

From all he had heard around baseball, Piniella checked out well; he was the guy to stop the bleeding on the field and in the box office.

Deciding he "was going to challenge him every way I could think of to see how he'd respond," Ellis called Piniella at home the day after his visit.

Piniella recalled three questions:

"Are you scared of the situation?"

"Are you afraid you can't make it happen?"

"You don't think you're good enough to get this going?"

Piniella burned. Nobody calls into question his guts and courage.

"He challenged me, and I've always loved challenges," he said. "I really happen to like John, and we hit it off right away. In Cincinnati, the challenge was for me to win the World Series, and that's what I intended to do. Then I intended to fix my businesses."

But he also realized it would be easier to fix his businesses with income, rather than without income.

He turned to Anita.

"You're not going to agree with this, but I gotta do what I gotta do."

He promised that in return for her support, he would move them back to Tampa, where they had grown up, met, and married, and would build them a second home on the beach.

Reluctantly, she agreed. What Anita knew well, and what baseball found out over a quarter century, is that once ignited, the impulse in Lou Piniella was irresistible.

One last thing remained. Piniella had to talk to Armstrong about a contract.